HE'S been chased by cows, attacked by dogs and was once mistaken for a psychiatrist. Retired vet Alun Jones looks back on his career with David Williams

WHEN Alun Jones began his career as a veterinary surgeon, penicillin was only just becoming available and not yet in widespread use.

It is difficult for most of us to imagine treating animals without reaching for one of the many modern antibiotics that are now readily available to the profession; but such was the case in the late 1940s.

He recalls: "We used to make up our own solutions of penicillin powder and sterile water to be infused into cows' udders for the treatment of mastitis, but this was only just becoming a popular remedy and most were still relying on treatments that had been used for generations.

"Otherwise we depended very much on sulphonamide powders and tablets which had become reasonably successful in treating infections."

It was in 1950 that he moved from a practice in Wolverhampton to become assistant to Charles William Cartwright at his Dyserth surgery, Vale of Clwyd.

One of the many responsibilities of this practice was looking after the pit ponies at Point of Ayr colliery. Mr Cartwright had a close affinity with these animals and their welfare, one which extended beyond their working life when he would keep an eye on their retirement pastures on the many small-holdings - often run by miners - in the surrounding countryside.

Though Mr Cartwright had a keen interest in horses and large animals he had little time for small animal work. Alun Jones was keen to develop this aspect of the business alongside the farm work.

To this end they bought the Berne House surgery in Prestatyn which became not only the main centre for the practice but also home for he and his then new wife Sheila.

It remained home for them and their three sons until his retirement in 1984 but to this day still serves as a surgery for a busy mixed practice with many farm clients.

There was one occasion in the early days at Prestatyn during afternoon surgery, when a very well dressed but rather irate man approached him with his young son who was in school uniform.

"Our appointment was over an hour ago", he complained, "my son needs to get back to school."

He was told the surgery was an open one and didn't have an appointment system. "You are Dr Alun Jones the psychiatrist, aren't you?"

"No, I am Mr Alun Jones the vet; Dr Alun Jones lives two houses up on the other side of the road; didn't you think it strange that there were animals waiting in the surgery?"

The man replied that he assumed that there must be a lot of clients who liked to take their animals everywhere with them, before he and his son made a hasty exit.

"It always pays to read the brass plaque outside the surgery," advised Mr Jones, "this would also have prevented one poor lady sitting waiting for nearly two hours at a nearby doctor's surgery with a rabbit on her knee."

With large animal farm work it is well known and accepted that bulls can be dangerous, but there can also be instances when cows can pose a considerable threat to farmers and vets alike.

Heifers in particular, when calving for the first time, are often very nervous and unpredictable: after calving one of these Alun Jones had a lucky escape.

"Well, this young heifer had been bellowing and making a tremendous fuss all through the calving, which was not a particularly difficult one; she was one of those that one might term 'highly strung'.

"Anyway we calved her without too much effort and she was lying there grumbling and making a fuss.

"She eventually turned her head and looked at us; she then looked down and suddenly saw the wriggling calf.

"Instantly she bellowed, leapt to her feet and began hurtling around the calving pen making terrible noises and charging at everyone and everything.

"She kicked my bag of calving ropes out of the pen and I had to make a hasty exit, vaulting over the gate as she came careering towards me.

"Even when we were out of the pen she carried on bellowing, pawing the ground and lashing out with her back legs. It was some hours later that the farmer was eventually able to retrieve the rest of my equipment."

During the 1960s a large American style track for harness racing was built at Prestatyn complete with grandstand, car parks, bars and office facilities designed for what were to become regular twice weekly meetings.

Horses from all over the world raced at this venue and Alun Jones' practice was appointed as veterinary surgeons for the new venture.

There were serious concerns at having so many animals from different countries mixing together, but apart from a serious outbreak of equine flu there were fewer health problems than had been feared.

"We certainly met some colourful characters through our work with the trotting," he recalls, "people from all over the world, really diverse personalities; so it was very interesting work."

After several successful years the track eventually closed down and is now a holiday camp, though a similar venue at Towyn has proved equally popular and still hosts televised races.

Sheepdogs have often been the bane of his life when making farm calls.

"Many of them were quite friendly, but there were some places that you really had to be on your guard; there were some very sly and cunning dogs about who used to take a great delight in darting out from their cover and surprising you with a sharp nip, and sometimes worse."

The dogs on two farms in particular have stayed in his memory.

"Yes, there was one place where I used to dread getting out of the car unless the farmer was there. There were always about five dogs greeting me, but you would only ever be able to see a couple of them at any one time, they would be skulking around and occasionally baring their teeth at me.

"In reality they were the decoys who used to draw my attention in readiness for the surprise attacks from the others who would have been hiding in various locations waiting for their chance to dart out and have a go at me.

"The other farm I remember had a collie dog called Pero, who was perfectly normal until I was leaving and had started the car.

"At this moment he became an absolute lunatic, spinning round and round in circles, barking furiously and biting at the mud flaps and the small lamp lenses that were common on cars at that time. "He could remove the little domed light covers and their chrome rings with one nip while the car was moving, and could pull the mud flaps off with equal dexterity.

"He cost me a small fortune in replacement parts, but at least he had no interest in biting me."

Alun Jones and his wife still live in upper Prestatyn in the house they bought on retirement, and he spends most of the time on his three main hobbies of gardening, making detailed scale models of sailing yachts, and radio broadcasting around the world using Morse code: an unusual pastime but one which has kept him occupied over many years.

He still has an ambition to compile a book of his memories and the history of the practice: "It's just a question of getting everything together and finding a publisher to take it on, but I would love to see these things properly documented in a book; maybe before too long we can make it happen."